James

The cold ground bites through my jeans, damp and unforgiving, but it barely registers. All I feel is the burn in my throat—raw, torn open from yelling until there was nothing left in me. My chest aches like I’ve been stabbed straight through the heart, and my breaths come in jagged pulls—too fast, too shallow, scraping painfully through my lungs.

Tyler is gone.

Tyler is fucking gone.

The words loop viciously, carving through me until I’m shaking with the force of them.

I failed him.

I promised I’d protect him.

I let it happen all over again.

Flashes slam into me—Tyler at eight, clinging to my shirt as they tore us apart; me screaming until my voice gave out; him shoved into the back of a car headed for some foster home while I was dumped miles away in a group facility. Those rare phone calls they let us have—his voice cracking as he begged me to come get him when I couldn’t. And after I finally got him back… those nights where he woke shaking, and I swore I’d never let anyone hurt him again.

And now he’s out there somewhere—alone, scared, hurt, or worse—and the weight of that failure crushes every breath I try to take.

A growl vibrates low in my chest, violent and primal. Rage spikes hot beneath my skin, directionless and scalding. I shove a fist into the dirt and try to push myself upright, but my legs buckle, dropping me back to my knees beneath a grief I can’t outrun.

I can’t move.

I can’t think.

I can’t do anything but drown in the truth that I should’ve been there.

But then, out of nowhere, a memory cuts through the panic.

Me pressing a kiss to her forehead. My voice a whisper against her skin:

“Promise me, Snowflake. No more running. And I’ll promise you the same. Next time either of us feels like running, we run straight to each other.”

Her reply, soft but earnest:

“Okay. I promise. No more running.”

Her voice. Her eyes. The way she said it.

It stops me mid-breath, like someone reached inside my chest and dragged me back from the edge.

My thoughts snap into place with terrifying clarity.

She’s inside.

Go to her.

Get up.

Move.

I force my palms into the dirt. My arms tremble. My legs shake so violently they threaten to fold again.

But I do get up.

I push through the burn in my chest and drag in a breath. Then another. Then a third—deep enough to finally reach the bottom of my lungs.

It’s enough.

Enough to get me moving. Enough to pull me forward on instinct alone—toward the only thing strong enough to anchor me now that the ground has disappeared beneath my feet.

Annelly.

The warmth of the cabin hits me the second I step through the door—too bright, too still. A jarring contrast to the chaos still ripping through my head. Voices rumble from the table, low and tense, but one line slices through the noise.

“Should we consider relocating her back to Ruby Creek?”

Dominick.

The words punch straight under my ribs—oil to flame—enraging the monster already clawing its way up my spine. Before I can react, he adds, “Maybe Lucas’s place, since it’s the most secure—”

Over my dead fucking body will they take her back there. The fact they’d even suggest it feels like the worst kind of betrayal, because Ruby Creek is the one place Victor knows exactly where to find her.

The fury rises too fast to contain—protective in a way that has nothing to do with logic and everything to do with fear. Hot and volatile, it rips through my blood like something feral ready to break loose.

But then I see her.

Not her face—since her back is to me—but the way her shoulders tense, drawn tight and strained. The faint shake of her head… a silent, panicked plea not to send her back there.

And all that fire, every drop of rage, grief, and adrenaline inside me funnels into a single point.

Her.

Because she’s what matters.

“Absolutely not. She is not going back there.” My words crack through the room like thunder, and the entire table goes still.

Then I move.

Not toward Dominick.

Not toward the argument brewing in the air like a storm.

Toward her.

Because whatever fight is coming, whatever asinine plan the team is about to pitch, nothing is going to happen until she’s in my arms. Until I know she’s safe. Until I stitch back together even one frayed thread of what I broke earlier.

She must sense me, because her spine goes rigid, her breath catching small and sharp in her chest. I slow as I reach her side—not out of doubt, but because I refuse to startle her again. Not after the way I scared her before I left.

My hand reaches out before I even register moving. Gentle instead of harsh. Controlled instead of spiraling.

She lifts her gaze the moment my fingers brush hers, eyes still wet, breath trembling. She hesitates for one brittle heartbeat… then her fingers slip into mine. Soft. Warm. Trusting in a way I haven’t earned.

“Annelly…” Her name leaves me like an apology. Like a plea I don’t deserve to make.

I coax her to stand, pulling her from the chair with a tenderness that didn’t exist in me minutes ago. And the second she’s upright, I gather her into my arms.

She comes without the slightest resistance. Like she’s been waiting for this—waiting for me. Like she needs me just as badly as I need her.

My arms wrap around her with a desperation I can’t hide. I bury my face in her hair. Her scent—soft, familiar—loosens something in my ribs for the first time since I learned my brother was gone.

“I’m sorry,” I breathe into her temple, voice wrecked and hoarse. “I didn’t mean—God, Snowflake, I’m so fucking sorry.”

She shakes her head against me, a soft, wounded sound slipping from her throat as her hands fist into the back of my shirt. Like she’s drowning too. And I hate it—hate that she’s hurting, hate that I’m the reason, hate that Tyler is out there somewhere and I can’t reach him.

My hold tightens, instinctive and protective, keeping her tucked beneath my chin while my hand drags slow, steady lines along her spine—grounding her, grounding me.

Behind us, someone shifts. A throat clears. A chair creaks.

The team is still here. Still watching. Still waiting.

But I don’t care.

Whatever argument is coming—whatever plan they want to shove down my throat—it can happen. But it happens with her right here. In my arms. Exactly where she belongs.

She stays tucked against me, face hidden from the room, from their eyes, from this entire conversation—because I’ll be damned if she has to carry even one more ounce of pain today.

As soon as I turn my face toward the team, they react.

Lucas straightens on the screen, settling into that steady, grounding calm built from surviving years of catastrophe. Concern in his eyes. No judgment.

Ben doesn’t speak. He waits, hands folded, reading the volatility rolling off me like he knows pushing will only make it worse.

Owen keeps typing, though the tension in his shoulders and the tic in his jaw betray him.

And then there’s Dominick. 

The asshole refusing to read the room.

He stiffens the second he sees me looking at him, arms crossing over his chest, brows pulled down hard. His stare locks onto mine like he’s itching for an excuse to lay into me.

Zeb picks up on it immediately. He leans back slightly, shoulders softening, posture open—but his weight shifts just enough to put himself between us if he has to. The quiet peacekeeper. The buffer.

“You good?” he murmurs.

As one of my closest friends, he already knows the answer.

But I nod anyway.

Dominick huffs impatiently, then barrels straight in. “She needs to go back to Ruby Creek, James. It’s what’s best, and you know it.”

“No.”

Ben tries to interject. “Dom—”

But Dominick steamrolls right over him. “We’re spread too thin. Getting her into one of the secure locations we’re already covering is the best way to conserve resources.”

“I said no.” 

My voice whips through the room sharp enough to cut, and he shoves to his feet. Zeb shifts again—subtle, but ready—no doubt preparing to step between us.

Lucas speaks up, calm but firmer than usual. “Guys, let’s take a breath—”

But Dominick isn’t listening.

“Then tell me, genius—what happens when we find Tyler? We’ll need bodies. We’ll need to move fast. We sure as shit can’t leave her here unprotected.”

My grip tightens around Annelly at even the mention of leaving her.

She tenses beneath my arms, tucking herself tighter against my chest. My thumb draws slow, steady circles along her back—meant to soothe her, meant to soothe me.

Like the inconsiderate bastard he is, Dominick doesn’t stop long enough to notice.

“Or is that the plan?” he fires back. “Take her with us? Drag her into a hostile extraction and put her in even more danger? Or maybe—” he leans forward, eyes narrowing “—maybe you’re willing to gamble with our lives when the rest of us have to go in to save your brother and end up dead because we’re outnumbered and outgunned. So tell me, James. What the fuck is your goddamn plan?”

“Dom, that’s enough.” Ben’s voice cuts through the room with that low, controlled tone that would make most men pause.

But Dominick doesn’t even blink.

The anger spikes hard, a bright, sharp surge in my bloodstream, but instead of snapping at him, I hold her tighter. I anchor myself to her breath. Her warmth. Her trembling fingers fisted in my shirt. 

I pull in a slow, steady inhale and answer him with a clarity I feel in my bones.

“To protect her at all costs. That’s the fucking plan.”

Dominick’s eyes widen, then narrow into something bordering on rage. 

But before he can spit anything else out, Lucas exhales and pinches the bridge of his nose. 

“This isn’t productive. Let’s stop. Take a step back—”

But I’m done. 

I shift, angling my body so she’s shielded from the tension shooting across the room. I lock onto Dominick—unblinking, unshakeable.

“I’m not taking her back there,” I grind out. “Not to the one place he knows to look for her. If she were yours, you’d understand.”

Then I look to Ben and Lucas, the two men who should know better than to ask that of me.

“If she were any of yours, not a single one of you would even suggest it.”

Silence falls hard.

Heavy.

Loaded.

Every man goes still.

Owen’s hands hover over his keyboard. Frozen.

Ben sits up straighter, jaw tight—but beneath the gathering storm in his eyes, something shifts. Understanding. A reluctant acceptance.

Lucas looks off screen and nods once, like he’s remembering exactly what it felt like when it was Emilia in danger.

Zeb watches from the side, muscles coiled, ready to intervene if this goes sideways.

But Dominick still doesn’t back down. His jaw clenches. Shoulders stiffen. His stance shifts into something threatening, like he’s ready—hell, eager—to escalate this.

And normally?

I’d let him.

I’d step right into his space and push until one of us snapped.

But not today.

Because while he’s pissed and blind to anything but his righteousness and logistics, all I feel—all I see—is the trembling woman in my arms.

The love of my fucking life.

Clinging to me like I’m the only solid thing left in a world that just fell apart.

And the truth is… that’s exactly who I want to be for her. Her rock. Her shield. The man who puts her safety and well-being before everything else.

My thumb keeps tracing slow circles along her spine. The contact soothing her… hell, soothing me. It dulls the edge of Dominick’s voice, his stance, his bullshit attitude until none of it even registers.

This is what loving her does to me—to the monster inside me.

This is how she’s tamed it.

How she’s tamed me.

And I wouldn’t have it any other way.

“That vile piece of shit already took my little brother.” I swallow hard, not giving a damn that they see every fractured piece inside me—the grief, the fear, the devastation. “I’ll be damned if I let him take the woman I love from me too.”

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